Feminists, crazy Russians, and other tales of this weekend...

So, a tip: if you are already feeling a little lonely and bored with your "housewifely" status...don't read 1960s feminist literature! I'm not saying it's not worth a read at a time when you are feeling secure and regular, but this was not the weekend for me to pick up The Feminine Mystique. My goodness. I won't even bother posting pictures from this week's date night because it mainly entailed me weeping into my scallops and running to the bathroom to wash off mascara-face. It didn't start while we were on the date though...oh no; the decline had started in the afternoon. The husband and I had a spat about something earlier that day, and after reading that book, all I could think about was: "He doesn't respect me...he thinks I'm an appliance....he thinks I want to stand here wearing pearls and vacuuming for him....he doesn't appreciate that I have a brain or he might care about my side of this argument more!"

Do you remember the scene in Father of the Bride where the bride-to-be starts crying and calls off the wedding because her fiance bought her a blender? It was kinda like that, except with possibly more crying. It was bad. And I'm not even hormonal or anything right now! But I hit this crazy low point and I couldn't even talk (that's not a normal reaction for me, by the way). But then of course I felt bad for feeling this way, and wanted to rush home to my children and tell them I was sorry for ever feeling purposeless when I'm raising their little souls. And then there was paying the babysitter, and tucking the kids in, and the basement is still a disaster from the flood so the distractions made it all go away for a while. In the words of Scarlet O'Hara: "I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow."

THEN, on Sunday, there was one of my favorite events of the year. One of the reasons we live in the city. At first, I was still a little melancholy from the previous night's date-night-sobathon, but when I finally arrived at this place, I remembered how much of a pick-me-up it is. It was the birthday party for one of my daughter's friends from school! I know....groan....who would ever like a child's birthday party, right?

But this is different.

We don't get princess birthday parties around these parts (well, except at my house, but that's because I'm really only faking this urban lifestyle...I'm not really cool). This child lives in the Ukrainian Village with her parents who are artists. Last year, her mother put on this probably 5-hour-long puppet show about a flying pig which was narrated by this huge Russian guy wearing a chef puppet on his hand. I don't even remember the story line, but it was hilarious. The kids sorta stopped watching it and played in the yard during it, but it was just so weird! And the crazy Russians kept drinking more and more vodka and cheering it on. Of course everyone I met there was either an artist or a writer or a yoga instructor (whose husband may or may not have been in the Russian mafia). It was hilarious. They buy these abnoxious giant cakes from the Polish bakery and the GAMES....I couldn't even describe the games.

Last night was no let down. There was ukelele playing and interpretive dance while the kids blew bubbles! There was an obscene amount of sausages being grilled and giant bottles of cheap red wine. I politely declined when they started with the vodka shots (remember...I'm reigning it in) but Matt thought he had to do it to be manly, I think. He did his best this-isn't-burning-my-throat face and thanked them politely. Then he ate another sausage. Good thing because he was supposed to drive us home. The party ended with the hostess singing "the party is over...go home" while strumming her ukelele and walking around the back yard. Good times. You gotta love the city when you get to meet people like this. I couldn't make this stuff up!

But now it's Monday, and Matt has to leave town for the day, and I have baseboards to repaint in the basement. So here's a little pic of cute Matt in his suit before leaving for the train, and Sammy and I still in bed when he was leaving, my living room as it looks today sans-carpeting, and my favorite appliance: the tiny 4-cup coffee maker my friend Nina gave me. It is so 1970's that I think it might be a collectors item, but it keeps the coffee friggin' hot! There are no controls or buttons on it; you just plug it in or unplug it. And if you forget to unplug it, then it will just stay 400 degrees hot all day long and burn that coffee down to ashes in the bottom of the pot, but I love it! Coffee that hot is a hard thing to come by with the new-fangled coffee pots out there today. And I'm definitely going to need the coffee today...